


mr. sandman, bring me a dream

by cloudywithachanceofme



Series: a marvelous universe [3]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (2021)
Genre: Crack, Developing Friendships, F/F, Fluff and Crack, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mission Fic, Monica-centric, Origin Story, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Romani Wanda Maximoff, SWORD Agent Monica Rambeau, wandavision - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudywithachanceofme/pseuds/cloudywithachanceofme
Summary: Monica just stares back. She picks up the folder, pressing down the creases, and lets out a breath. "Why the third degree?""Because you have secrets, too, Agent”, Maximoff retorts, and when she looks at Monica, it’s like she’s looking through her, straight into her soul. “And if this is going to work, I need to know who I'm working with.""I already told you, I'm-""Monica Rambeau, Agent of S.W.O.R.D.", Maximoff finishes, and Monic scowls because she does not sound like that. "But I'm not asking for a resume. I'm asking who are you and why you're doing this.""...I’m somebody who's got a lot to prove and a hell of a lot more to lose."
Relationships: Monica Rambeau & Talos's Daughter, Wanda Maximoff & Monica Rambeau
Series: a marvelous universe [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930729
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg, this is my first story, and I am legit so excited! I plan to update this fic once a week, every Wednesday, and if I can, I'll try to post unrelated fics every weekend. Aside from that, I'm so excited for WandaVision, and this is my hopes for what the show'll be like. I'm really hoping they don't give Wanda and Monica an antagonistic relationship, but in the meantime, there's always fanfic lol. Spoiler alert, this will ultimately end in Monica becoming Spectrum, but 98% of the story'll be Monica as a civilian and working with Wanda to do some yet to be named shit.  
> I hope y'all like this, and I'm happy to officially be on ao3 🤗🤗🤗.

There are procedures for these kinds of things.

Long-winded, lengthy procedures, often accompanied by painstaking meetings and phone calls that, ultimately, amount to nothing. 

All in all, a whole lot of bullshit that’ll leave you worse off than you started.

"Still gotta follow through on it", Luna says, wiggling her eyebrows as she takes a sip of her coffee. They're at a Starbucks, and, to the average passerby, you'd think them twins, what with Luna having shifted to mimic her appearance. 

Monica just huffs, tearing open exactly two packets of sugar and one creamer before pouring them into her cup. “And while I’m getting the all-clear, my mission goes to the shitter.”

“And all in a day’s work”, Luna retorts, batting her eyelashes with far more emphasis than needed. Monica just rolls her eyes, then stares solemnly into her swirling cup of coffee. “What’s got you so bent out of shape?”, Luna asks after a moment; she pulls her croissant in half and takes a bite out of it, pointing the remaining half in Monica's direction. "You aren’t still worrying about the Acanti’s changing their migration path, are you? Cuz dad's already got someone on it, their sonar shit just got a little confused cause of the new stations and-"

"No, no, no, it's not that", Monica sighs. She pushes her cup away from her, her appetite fleeing abruptly as she meets Luna’s eye. "What do you know about the Avengers?"

Luna just cocks her head to the side, then takes another bite of her croissant and answers, "I know they all kinda disbanded after Stark's death; split into smaller teams, solo deals, or assumed another identity”. Eyes gone narrow, she then asks, “Why?", as if suspecting the question isn’t as innocent as it sounds.

And in this case, it’s not as innocent as it sounds. A sheepish laugh escaping her, Monica returns her gaze to her coffee, stirring the paper straw about the cup as she quietly says, “I, uh, I think I found one.”   
Luna just stares at her. A full minute, she just stares at her. Then, just when it’s crossed from amusing to unsettling, Luna sets the remainder of her croissant down on her napkin, shakes the crumbs from her fingers, and calmly states, “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not fucking with you.”

“Uh, yes, you are.” She looks around them, adjusting her menu to shield them from the people passing them by on the street, as if  _ that _ will keep them from overhearing. “Nobody just  _ finds _ an Avenger, Nicki. That kinda shit just doesn’t happen.” There’s a glint to her eyes, the same one she’d had when they were eighteen and Luna suggested they steal Monica’s moms’ truck to take them to their prom. And Monica just smiles because this is the exact reaction she was hoping for.

“Yeah and having lunch with yourself isn’t the kinda shit that normally happens either, but look where we are.” 

Luna rolls her eyes, sinking back in her chair to watch Monica, and, even after all these years, it’s still alarming to find her own facial expressions reflected back at her, “Okay”, Luna says, sitting up to scoot her chair closer. “So which one was it?”   
Monica bites her lip, just barely suppressing a smile as she replies “Maximoff”

Luna nods, her knee bouncing erratically underneath the table. “Now I  _ know _ you’re fucking with me.” She cuts her eyes to Monica, eyebrows raised as she whispers, “You get any pics?”

“What? No!”   
“Why not?”

“Cause I’m not a creeper.” She lets out a breath, peeking over Luna’s menu, eyes narrowed as she takes in the empty street before turning back to face her. “Besides, she’s of Earth, and she wasn’t bothering anybody. This is more New S.H.I.E.L.D. territory than S.W.OR.D.”   
A group of college students passes them by, each taking a moment to gape at the mirror-images sitting opposite each other. Cheeky, Monica and Luna both raise a hand and wave, identical smiles in place, and the students scurry off without another word. 

“...So she was okay then?”, Luna ponders, face suddenly serious as they rise from their seats and begin the walk back to Monica’s car.

Monica just breathes out a laugh and scratches the back of her neck. “Well. I wouldn’t say that.”

: : :

Okay. So Monica might’ve possibly, potentially, downplayed her encounter with Maximoff. If the side-eyed glances Luna keeps giving her are any suggestion, Luna seems to recognize this. But she doesn’t press on it, instead hooking her phone up to the radio and asking what Monica wants to hear. As Monica’s oldest friend, she’s always known when to leave these be, and this happens to be one of those times.

Because once upon a time, Ms. Maximoff had been one of the Avengers most promising recruits. Born with her gifts, she’d always wanted to help, even when the world seemed hellbent on destroying her: when Transia fell to war; when she and her brother lost their parents; when, after otherwise ignoring the crisis, the Avengers had asked for her help in defeating Ultron. For three years, she’d been a beacon for the New Avengers Initiative.

Then Thanos happened. And then Thanos happened  _ again _ , and, somewhere between both occurrences...they lost track of her. Not completely, mind you, but enough to make New S.H.I.E.L.D., S.W.O.R.D., and the World Security Council pretty uncomfortable. Up until a few hours ago, Monica had always thought she was either dead or in hiding out somewhere offworld.

So to find her sitting on the steps of a REC center had been nothing short of startling. She only got in one look, but one look was enough.

Bear in mind, Monica’s only seen her in field footage and news reports, so maybe it was just seeing her in civilian attire. Black and red clothes, a water bottle in hand, looking like she was simply waiting for a Lift to come pick her up.

But it went beyond her physical appearance. There was something about her, something in her eyes, that screamed that something has changed. Something in her.

Their eyes met for but a second, but to Maximoff, it was just another person on the street. To Monca, it meant a helluva lot more.

She didn't file a report, like she was supposed to. She just walked away, turning only once as she rounded the corner to watch her, still sitting on those steps. And she knows she should've done more. Because she wasn’t lying when she said this doesn’t concern her. Enhanced & Mutant affairs may be strictly New S.H.I.E.L.D. territory, but S.W.O.R.D. Agents are still required to sweep any rogues they happen to come across in Hill’s direction. At the very least, Monica’s supposed to make a report and send a copy to their E&M Department, who, in turn, will send her over for a meeting with Abigail and the leading seniors of S.W.O.R.D.

If word gets out that she neglected to report the sighting...she wouldn’t be fired, not with her credentials (or her connections), but she could be facing a serious demotion. Like, entry level demotion.

And all for what? To save some Avenger, who, by all means, probably doesn't even need saving?

Well...yeah. Apparently.

: : :

"Rambeau. Boss wants a meeting."

Monica looks up from her computer, eyebrows raised as she meets Cecilia's scowl above her cubicle. "Now?"

"Yes, now." She rolls her eyes, shifting the blueprints she's holding from one armpit to the other. "You got something better to do?"

Monica closes out of the Avengers tab, briefly noting that Maximoff’s still classified as MIA, and powers down her laptop. She tucks it into her briefcase, then follows Cecilia.

"Any clue on what this is about?", Monica asks, aiming for casual as she brushes the wrinkles out of her blouse.

"Something with the Avengers", Cecilia mutters, and Monica feels her blood run cold like frozen pipes in the middle of winter. "Someone at NS picked up something on one of their stragglers."

"Oh." She doesn't quite know what else to say. She shouldn't even care. NS affairs is none of her business, and even if it were, it's in Hill’s hands now. She wouldn’t let anything bad happen to Maximoff.

So why does this meeting make her feel so weird?

She takes a seat along the horizontal, seated firmly between Cecilia and Sydren. Across the table, there sits Luna, who spares Monica a single knowing look before the door opens and in walks Abigail.

"Okay, team", she says with a sigh. "I know Avenging business isn't usually our deal, but, in this case, I think we'll have to make an exception."

"And why is that exactly?" Cecilia asks, eyes narrowed. "Because Avenging isn't our business. Intergalactic affairs, though, that is."

"Cece, I think she's aware of that", Monica murmurs, returning the heated glare she receives with one of her own. 

"This is an all hands on deck situation", Abigail continues. She tosses several thick stacks of papers onto the table, and, needless to say, Monica isn't too surprised to see Maximoff’s name on there. "Wanda Maximoff", Abby begins as Monica flicks through her own stack. "Commonly known as the Scarlet Witch. NS lost her after the Battle of Earth, but we have it on good word that she's back in the States."

K'eel looks up from his own packet, brows furrowed in confusion as he asks, "So we’re bringing her in?”

"Those are our orders", Abby says, sounding just as happy about it as he.

"Why?", Monica asks, and Cece just stares at her like she’s sprouted an extra two eyes. She ignores her, turning her gaze back to the room. "I mean, whoever said Avenging was a lifelong job?"

"She’s one of the most powerful known mutants onworld, Rambeau", Cece says as she looks over her packet. "I don't care who she is, she still needs to be brought in. If one of us just fucked off one day, you can bet your ass Abby’d show up on our doorstep every morning requesting an official resignation."

"NS needs to know what she's been up to the past three years", Abby cuts in, rolling her eyes. "Once she’s been debriefed, she'll be allowed to resume whatever civilian life she's built, NS has given us their word."

Silence descends upon the room. It's been a few years since Washington, and a lot’s changed in those few years, but open wounds heal slowly. Although it helps to have Hill as the head of New S.H.I.E.L.D., no one’s really eager to put their trust back into the organization. 

Especially Monica, who almost lost her uncle to said organization. It also doesn’t help that she’s hiding an ex-Avenger from the varying branches of World Security.

"Just." Abby runs a hand through her greying hair and sighs. "Just keep an eye out, okay? And be gentle should you come across her. This lady’s been through hell. We don't wanna provoke her." She looks over the tabe, then folds her hands under her chin. "'Cece, Nicki, I want you in teams, Nicki in the sky, Cece on the ground. Luna, try to get close to her but with a different face each time. K'eel…"

Monica's phone vibrates in her pocket. She fishes it out, eyes widening when she sees it’s a text from Luna. 

_ "Do we need 2 talk?" _

_ "No" _ , Monica quickly types back. She then looks back at the table, just in time to spot Cecilia eyeing her suspiciously. She goes back to her phone and types,  _ "I need to do something after this. Keep Cece off my ass" _ . She doesn't wait for a reply, but she does notice Luna giving her the briefest of nods. 

The rest of the meeting passes without event, with Monica attempting to duck out the moment everyone begins to pack up. Abby calls for her, though, and soon enough, it's just the two left in the room.

"Monica", Abby says, hands folded in front of her. "You've had some expertise in this area before."

_ Fuck.  _ "With aliens, ma'am. No one earth-based", Monica corrects weakly. "And that was years ago, I was a child and-"

"On the record, yes", Abby concedes, nodding. "But off the record? Nick and your parents allowed you to go on a number of missions. No one just gets a decorated letter of recommendation from S.H.I.E.L.D., Old or New, for nothing. You’ve got field experience, and, on more than one occasion, they actually did cross over with Earth-based species.” She blinks, smiling, like she’s caught Monica with her hand in the cookie jar. “Enhanced and Mutant species, to be exact.”

"They’re not the kind of missions you’re thinking of", Monica argues, growing frustrated. " Those ‘species’ I worked with were my teammates, and I was rarely ever on the front line with them. It wouldn’t help me with bringing in Maximoff.”

"Nicki." Abby takes off her glasses and sighs. "For months, you've been begging me to give you a chance to prove you're more than your relation to your connects.” She clears her throat, then adds, “Or your personal history” as she tucks her glasses into her shirt. "This is your chance. Are you really asking me to rescind it?”

Monica just scowls at her because, okay, that was a low blow. She may have a point, but it’s still low. "What do you need me to do?", she sighs, arms crossed over her chest.

Abby just gathers the extra stacks of paper off the table, tucks them close to her chest, and gives Monica an appraising look. "What you do best. Do you have any other questions?”

“No, ma’am”, Monica mumbles, and Abby nods, dismissing her without saying another word.

: : :

Maximoff’s report was plenty informative, save for her actual location. Given that there are no NS agents currently stationed in San Francisco, Monica decides not to fault them for the oversight.

There are S.W.O.R.D. agents, though, plenty of whom are either eager to prove themselves worthy of a higher ranking or just get off on the thrill of a chase. 

So Monica has to get to Maximoff before that happens.

"Just find her and warn her", Monica murmurs to herself, slipping a purple wig over her hairnet. She shakes out her arms, paints her lips purple, then takes hold of her leather jackrt and shakes it out, taking a moment to simply watch herself in the mirror.

_ You look like a cop,  _ a voice supplies unhelpfully.

"You're goddamn right I do", Monica says, finger-gunning her reflection. She then groans, dropping her hands face down on the counter. "What the hell am I doing?"

_ Being the good guy _ , she thinks back to herself, and that's not exactly reassuring because the law doesn't have a history of being too kind to good guys. It makes her feel better, though. Just a little.

Monica shakes her hands, takes a drag of her inhaler, then looks at herself in the mirror. She looks ridiculous, like someone you’d shit on for the sole crime of looking like an absolute clown, but that might just work in her favor. "All right", Monica says and starts for the door. "No turning back now.”

The REC center’s a frequent hangout of Maximoff’s. A quick hack into the center’s security footage confirmed that, and a quick visit to their website confirmed there was a food drive going on that evening.

And sure enough, once Monica settles in amongst the crowd, she finds Maximoff amongst them. She walks up to her after grabbing a plate, taking a beside her in a clunky, plastic chair. 

"Good food", Monica says, scooping some macaroni into her mouth.

Maximoff doesn't say anything. Her plate sits in her lap, untouched. 

"I mean, I've had better, but, you know, make do with what you can, right?"

_ Now you sound like a cop. _

"Snicker?", Monica offers, holding out half a bar of candy. Maximoff looks down at it, then, slowly, painstakingly so, looks back up at her. "I promise it's not poisoned", Monica says with an awkward laugh.

Maximoff grabs her plate, rises to her feet, and walks off.

"She's not much of a talker", says the woman sitting beside her. She holds out a hand, and Monica hands her her rejected candy bar. "I’m Agatha."

"Paula", Monica says distractedly as she sits her half-eaten plate on the table.

"I like your hair", Agatha tells her.

"Thanks." She spares her a glance, murmuring, "I like your ear rings" before following Maximoff.

She walks outside, shrugging off her coat and stuffing it into her duffel before snatching her wig off her head. She looks around, perking up when she finds Maximoff walking into the basement.

_ Just tell her the cops are after her and bail _ , Monica reminds herself, tucking her hands into her pockets as she descends the steps. As she opens the door, she takes a moment to take note of her surroundings, then descends lower and finds herself alone in an empty room.

Then the door closes shut, the only light being a faint, red glow from behind her.

"You’re following me", Maximoff says, and Monica jumps around, hand itching for her gun. She withholds the urge, instead settling for standing there, her head held high.

"Monica Rambeau, agent of S.W.O.R.D.", she stutters out, pointing at her pocket. After a moment’s scrutiny, Maximoff nods, and Monica retrieves her badge, then holds it out for her to inspect it. Once she's deemed it legitimate, Maximoff looks back up, her nose turned up as she scoffs, "S.W.O.R.D.?"

“Sentient World Observation and Response Department. It’s basically the intergalactic counterpart to S.H.I.E.L.D.", Monica explains, and a smirk graces Maximoff's lips.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. S.W.O.R.D." She snorts and wraps her arms around herself, energy trails of red warping around her. "Is there a H.E.L.M.E.T. club I should know about?"

"None that I know about", Monica admits, bashfully tucking the badge away. 

"...Okay." She cocks her head to the side and chuckles, flecks of red appearing in her eyes. "So tell me. What exactly does Monica Rambeau, Agent of S.W.O.R.D., want with me?”

Monica hesitates. She watches Maximoff, notes the way the world parts around her like rip currents in water and the fact that there’s no light in this room, save for the one that spills from within her. If Maximoff wanted, she could very easily be the only one to leave this room, and no one, save for maybe Luna, would know what happened because Monica’s a dumbass that didn’t tell anyone what she was gonna do. With the power she’s packing, it wouldn’t take anything at all to snuff Monica’s light out like she’s nothing more than a candle.

And the strangest part about it? Monica isn’t scared. She’d been startled, sure, when Maximoff flipped the tables on her. But she isn’t afraid of her. Monica doesn’t know her, but some part of her trusts her, likely the part that kept her from making that report in the first place. Which of course just brings her back to the question at hand. 

What does she want with her? Why is she here, putting her career, her life on the line, for a woman she doesn't even know?

"I'm here to protect you", Monica eventually says because that's what this is all about, isn't it? NS, S.W.O.R.D., the World Security Council. To protect those who need it most. And Monica’s never needed to know someone to know that they need help. 

"I wasn't aware I needed protecting", Maximoff says, sounding amused. 

"Most aren't", Monica admits quirtly. Then, clearing her throat, she adds, "World Security is looking for you. I just...wanted to give you a heads up". 

“Really?”, Maximoff remarks slyly, crossing her arms over her chest, and she looks so very tired. “I hadn’t noticed that.”

"They know you’re here”, Monica presses on. “Between the three of them, they're going to find you." She watches Maximoff, noting the general air of apathy surrounding her, and falters before saying, "You want them to find you”.

"I wouldn't say that." Maximoff tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and sighs. "I just don't care if they do."

_ Well, I do _ , Monica thinks. She doesn’t say that outloud, though, because that’s-that’s weird, they don’t even know each other. "Do you have anywhere to stay?", Monica asks, and she’s definitely overstepping, but it can’t hurt to ask. After all, she’s already gone this far. 

"This 5-star hotel on the other side of town”, Maximoff says with an exhale that seems to sap whatever little energy was left in her body. “Where do you think I’m staying?”

“...I have some room in my apartment. If you want.”

For a long, long, long while, Maximoff just stares at her. Which, you know, is fair. It’s not often that a government agent offers to let you stay at their place to hide from the government. But stranger things have happened. And so when Maximoff just nods and says, “Why not?”, Monica also nods and happily leads her back to her apartment.

Because if there’s one thing that Monica Rambeau is good at, it’s tripping over her own two feet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo that's the first chapter. Next one's going up next Wednesday. I'd love to hear how y'all felt about this one, and I'll see y'all next week 😘😘😘.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all! I know this chapter is late. I might wind up pushing updates to Tuesdays, it'd just make things easier. I still plan on completing this, last week just wound up being busier than I expected lol. So here's this week chapter, and I promise, there will be a chapter next week. Until then, I hope y'all like this chapter, and I'd love to hear how y'all feeling about the story so far!

When Monica was in the fifth grade, her homeroom teacher informed her parents in the “notes” column of her report card that Monica was exceptionally bright but struggled with basic impulse control

Monica had disagreed wholeheartedly with the latter half and continued to for quite a while. Looking over her life, though, she can admit there was some truth behind the judgement.

Not that she’d ever say it aloud. Of course, actions always have spoken louder than words, and her decision to let Maximoff stay with her essentially boils down to the simple fact that she felt like it.

"Are you hungry?", Monica asks, locking the door shut to her apartment. She kicks off her boots, then starts towards the kitchen. "I've got noodles and pancakes...and pickles”, she says, staring pitifully into her fridge.

Maximoff justlingers between the kitchen and the living room, eyebrows raised in question.

"I haven't gone shopping this week", Monica admits with a sheepish shrug. Or this month, really. She’s mostly been living on takeout. It’s quite an adjustment from the meal-prepping she’s otherwise lived by but nonetheless an easy habit to get into.

"I'm not really hungry”, Maximoff mutters, eyes taking in Monica’s rather unimpressing kitchen. “But thanks, I guess." She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, an awkward silence stretching between them before she asks, "Do you have a shower?"

Monica numbly points down the hall and says, "That way". Maximoff doesn’t waste any time. As she walks past her, Maximoff leaves residue of red energy in her wake, setting the hairs on the back of her neck at attention. 

_ This is a good thing _ , Monica thinks as she busies herself with washing the sole plate in her sink _. This is the right thing to do. It's not like she's a fugitive or anything.  _

Her eyes go wide, and her hands fumble with her plate as the water pressure suddenly surges.  _ Oh, God. What if she is a fugitive? Am I harboring a fugitive? _

_ No, that’s stupid, NS would’ve told us. Or Abby would’ve, at least. _

Monica’s in the midst of wondering how to slyly ask Abby if Maximoff is a fugitive when her phone suddenly. This time, she does drop her plate, the ceramic shattering upon impact. She draws in a long breath and curses quietly to herself pulling it out of her pocket, eyes narrowed once she sees the most recent text is from Cece. Underneath that, there’s one from Luna. Somehow, she doubts they aren't related.

Luna, 5:32 pm:

_ Careful w Cece. Shes working w the Satellite and Surveillance Department. _

Cecilia, 6:51pm:

_ We should talk. Think I got a lead on Maximoff. _

"Yeah, me, too", Monica sighs and runs an exhausted hand over her face just as the shower starts to run. 

It’s a few hours later when Monica sets up a comfortable spot on the couch for her guest to sleep. To Monica’s surprise, Maximoff crashes with ease, bundled tightly underneath three thick layers of blankets. Shaking her head, Monica then retreats to her own room and joins her in slumber after a few hours of tossing and turning. 

. . .

The first thing she notices as wrong is her clothes.

This time of year, Monica usually goes to sleep in her underwear, for fear of overheating and sweating out her entire bed. Today, when she awakes, it’s to the sight of an ankle-length nightgown. Which, considering the fact that she hasn’t worn nightgowns since she was eleven, is pretty fucking weird.

The second thing she notices is the fact that there's music playing. 50s music. And it's not even good 50s music. It's  _ country _ music, the kind her dad plays when her moms aren't hogging the radio. Monica turns her nose up, hiking up the nightgown that does not belong to her, and starts out the door and down the hall.

"What in the fudge?", she murmurs as she takes in the sight of her living room. Well. It's not  _ her _ living room. It looks more like her Gramma’s house, what with the floral wallpaper and stuffy sofas scattered about the room. And then there’s the cooling loaf of bread sitting on the table. Out of everything, that, weirdly enough, is the thing that mostly holds her attention. Monica can’t even remember the last time she had unsliced bread. It is, perhaps, the greatest thing since sliced bread. 

"Maximoff", Monica calls out, staring irritably down at the bunny slippers that have, miraculously, found their way upon her feet. "Heavens to Betsy, where are you?"

"She's freshening up", a voice suddenly says, and Monica jumps, reaching for her gun and instead coming away with a newspaper. She glowers at it, then looks up and finds a man with a bouquet standing before her.

"Why are you in my house?", Monica stutters out, tightening her grip around her newspaper, silently apologizing to the ruined comic strips.

"Your house?" The man frowns before realization seems to dawn in his eyes. "Oh, well, pardon me.” He slaps himself gently on the forehead, then says, “You must be Wanda’s roommate”, smiling as he extends a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rambeau. Wanda’s told me so much about you."

She just purses her lips, watching as the woman in question exits the guest room that Monica had yet to finish tidying up. With her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and legs cloaked with an, admittedly, adorable poodle skirt, Maximoff looks like something straight out of I Love Lucy. Except for her eyes, which are a rather dazzling shade of red. Those eyes are a decade in their own right. 

"Darling", the man sighs heavenly, taking Maximoff’s face in his hands.

Maximoff just beams and melts into his touch. "Lovemuffin.”

"Excuse me", Monica says, clearing her throat as she takes Maximoff by the wrist and guides her towards the living room. Once she’s certain the man hasn’t followed them, she looks her straight in the eye and breathes, "Maximoff. What the fudge did you do?"

Maximoff just cocks her head to the side. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, who is that man, why does he think you live here, what happened to my clothes, and why can I not swear?"

"I don't know what you’re going on about", Maximoff simply answers, watching Monica like, out of everything, she’s the one that’s not making any sense. "But that lump of sugar right there is the love of my life."

Monica opens her mouth to ask another myriad of questions, only to falter and feel herself deflate. She looks over her shoulder, back to the man she’d left awkwardly standing beside the toaster. And as she watches him, she finds herself picturing another man, one of a maroon color, who once fought alongside the Avengers, and…"Vision", she says, flabbergasted.

"It’s Paul, actually", Maximoff says with a chuckle.

Monica just shakes her head. Given the circumstances, an Avenger coming back from the dead takes low priority. "What year is it?", Monica asks, exasperated as she stalks towards where the T.V. once set, only to find it now gone. Because of course. T.V.s were hella expensive in the 50s.

"1952", Vision answers, then, upon following her line of sight, adds, "Miss Rambea, are you sure you're feeling well?"

"I’m fine, Vision-"

"Paul”, he corrects with a polite smile.

Monica just blinks, then amends, “Paul." She gives Maximoff a pointed look, and she nods, seeming to understand as she follows her into Monica’s room. "I just need to have a quick chat with Maximoff”, Monica calls out over her shoulder. “I mean, Wanda."

She then closes the door shut behind them, just barely withholding from tossing a dozen questions in her direction. "All right”, Monica begins, her voice gentle as she takes a seat on her bed. “So. Did I do something to ruffle your feathers last night? Because you know, I thought things were going great." As great as withholding top secret information from the World Security Forces can be. But excluding that, you know, everything had seemed peachy. 

"Monica, I think you need to get out of the house", Maximoff says, then takes a seat beside her. "That imagination of yours, I think it’s getting the better of you.” She then shifts so that she’s facing her, a mischievous smile gracing her lips. “If you want, I can set you up with Paul's brother. I know you got your head worried about all those rumors, but if you would just give him a chance-"

"Listen." Monica inhales deeply, then, after briefly hesitating, reaches out to hold her hands and calmly states, "Maximoff. Whatever kind of illusion this is, you need to bring it down”.

“I really don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean”, Monica continues, approaching desperation. “You’ve gotta be practical about this now. The 50s ain't exactly a good time for people of either of our complexions." She huffs, glaring down at her newspaper-turned-feather duster before tossing it to the floor. "Or our gender. I know the present ain’t a winner eager, but there’s really no competition.”

“You know what I think”, Maximoff interjects, nodding to herself like she’s just figured out the secret of the universe. “I think you’ve been hearing too much about that Twilight Zone mess. You should get some rest."

"And you should listen to me." Monica grumbles, rising from her seat on the bed. For a long moment, she just stares at Maximoff. And the longer she stares, the more aggravated she gets because now really isn’t the time for a trip down memory lane. "This isn't funny, Maximoff. NS and S.W.O.R.D. are already on your ass. You-you can't just be using your powers like this, you’re gonna bring the whole of World Security down on our heads!" Monica may not have high-level clearance, but she did a read on Maximoff’s abilities. WS doesn’t have the tech to track Enhanced and Mutants, but they are in league with that Strange dude, and he won't hesitate to call if he catches wind of Maximoff rewriting the makeup of the universe to live out some morbid fantasy. 

"You’re making less and less sense by the minute”, Maximoff’s saying, folding her hands in front of her. There’s a smile on her face, but it’s...it’s not quite there. Like a painting that’s tilting just a few degrees to the left. “Maximoff", Monica says, feeling a sort of panic rising within her. If this is all really real, she doesn't want to piss her off or send herself into an asthma attack because did the fifties even have inhalers? "S.H.I.E.L.D. S.W.O.R.D. WS Council. They're all looking for you. And I’ve been with them for a few years now, so trust me when I tell you, if they’re looking for you, they’re going to find you. Especially if you keep up with these shenanigans."

There's a flicker in Maximoff's eyes, of recognition, of understanding. And then, just like that, it’s gone, and she's marching over to the bookshelves lining the walls, which, thankfully, survived the transition. "Would you like to make a cake?", she tosses over her shoulder, seeming fascinated with the books practically spilling out from the shelves. "I just bought some cake mix and-"

"Could you quit it?", Maximoff hisses, her breathing suddenly unmanageable. "Listen, this is not real. Or, not-not really real anyway.”

"Of course, it isn't", Maximoff retorts, giggling uneasily. "Nothing’s like the real stuff, but since we’re on a budget and everything-"

"Not the damn cake!" Monica waves a hand about the room, and Maximoff at last turns from the bookshelf, brows furrowed in worry as she eyes Monica. 

"Why, you have asthma", Paul exclaims, poking his head in the room. He darts back out, returning moments later with a paper bag, which he then passes to Monica. He looks to Maximoff and frowns. "You never told me she had asthma."

Maximoff just looks between the two of thdm, uncomprehending as Paul rubs a soothing motion into Monica’s back. Monica breathes in and out, attention trained on her breathing until the ground suddenly trembles.

The world begins to crumble. Cracks splinter through the hardwood floors, the windows shatter, and the ceiling starts to groan. Just as Monica’s about to cry out “Earthquake!”, her field of vision bursts into static, Vision disappearing in the same gust of wind as she herself had during the Blip. Frightened, Monica turns to her left and finds Maximoff is now breathing heavily. She reaches out to her, only to suddenly gasp and realize she's back in her home.

Her real home. The one in the '20s,  _ the 2020s _ , at that.

Trembling, Monica reaches underneath the pillow opposite her and grabs her inhaler, breathing in and out until air comes naturally again. Then, and only then, does she push herself to her feet and start towards the living room.

Maximoff is sitting upright on the couch, her face and undershirt drenched in sweat. She looks up at Monica's approach and just stares at her, a sheepish expression overwhelming her face. It's a strange thing, seeing her emote aside from amused or disinterested. It doesn't feel much like a victory, though.

Monica approaches her, opting to stand a few feet away instead of sitting beside her. "Soooooo", she starts, rocking back and forward on her feet. "I had a dream last night."

"That wasn't a dream", Maximoff returns shortly, bringing her hands up into a tent over her face. "It was my brain. You were trespassing."

Monica wavers, staring into her story, red eyes before relenting.  _ Battle for another day, Rambeau. You need to diffuse. _ Monica nods and folds her hands in front of her. "I'm sorry."

Maximoff just stares at her. Then, her shoulders sagging, she lowers her hands and quietly says, "It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have been projecting".

Monica nods despite not knowing what that means aside from the vague memory Charles had once said about his powers. The connection doesn't draw much comfort, though. As the world's second most powerful telepath, there's no telling just how far his mind can go, and she doesn't even want to begin to comprehend Maximoff's.

"You want anything to eat?", Monica asks breathily, breaking the awkward silence that’s risen between them.

Maximoff just closes her eyes. "No."

"I’m…" Monica exhales, legs like jell-o as she turns back to the kitchen. "I’m gonna get us something to eat."

She's just finished burning their waffles when her phone chirps in her pocket. Exhausted, she fishes it out, eyes practically bulging out when she sees it’s a text from Luna.

_ "Ceces coming over, bitch run!” _

Monica just stares, eyes straining against the glare of the phone. And then she groans. "Fuck", she hisses. She tucks her phone back away, then turns to survey the kitchen, which has yet to recover from Maximoff's earlier illusion, chairs upturned, cabinets emptied of contents, water gushing down the front of the sink. It looks like a fucking tornado parked its ass over her apartment, just to spite her. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Uh, Agent?" Maximoff calls out from the living room, sounding worried.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" Monica continues, then looks down at herself and realizes she's still in her underwear, and rushes back to her room. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Oh, my God, are you okay?" Maximoff sounds really worried now, trailing after Monica as she pulls open her dresser. "Are you having any dizzy spells? Any troubling memories resurfacing?  _ Shit _ , do you know what your name is?"

"What?" Monica frowns, shimmying into a pair of jeans until understanding crashes into her like a freight train. "Oh! Oh, no, this isn't- shit." She buttons up her jeans, heaving as she realizes she’s outgrown them, then pulls Carol's old Texas Rangers jersey over her head. "No, I just have someone coming over, and I kinda need this place to be presentable."

"Oh", Maximoff says, with a sigh of relief. She blinks, watching Monica continue frantically navigating her room, and asks, "Is it a friend?"

"No", Monica answers, far too quickly. "We’re more salty colleagues than anything. But." She snatches her bonnet off her head and tosses it onto her mannequin head sitting atop her dresser. "She cant keep her mouth shut worth a damn so i need you to just." She points her fingers, a polite two, at Maximoff. "Stay in here. Okay?"

"You want me to stay in your room?", Maximoff deadpans.

"Well, you've already seen me in my underwear, so we’re already pretty acquainted.”

“Ha. You’re funny.”

"I know”, Monica says with a wink. She takes a moment to look herself over. Deeming herself presentable, she then whispers, “Okay” to herself before turning to Maximoff. “So. Yeah I'll just deal with her and you-"

"I'll be here", Maximoff murmurs with a small smile.

"Right." Monica closes the door behind her, awkwardly waving goodbye, then rushes back to the living room.

Thankfully, the kitchen’s been restored, so there’s almost nothing to worry about.

Her phone goes off, followed by the sound of a buzzing filling the apartment. Monica walks to her door and presses the intercom button, then calms her voice, and asks, "Who is it?"

"It's Cecilia", a voice returns, rich with static. "We need to talk to you."

Monica freezes. "We?"

"Vihaan Singh", another voice cuts in. "I’m with the New World Security Council."

_ FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckityfuckFUCK _ .

"Of course", Monica wheezes, then clears her throat and straightens her spine. She didn't earn the title of lieutenant just to fall apart under a little pressure. She buzzes them in, says, "I'll be right down", and sprints out the hallway.

"Senator Singh", Monica says, saluting before she can stop herself. She sees Cecilia snicker into her fist, but Singh just smiles kindly, greeting her with "Lieutenant Rambeau”. She opens her mouth, then closes it, looking from Cecilia to Monica as they all retreat into the latter’s apartment.

"I’m sorry to drop in unannounced", Singh begins, watching as Monica locks the door behind them. "But it really is urgent."

Monica just nods, casting a nervous glance to her room before taking a seat on the couch. After an encouraging nod, Cece and Singh sit opposite her. "Okay then”, she says with a long breath. “Lay it on me. I don’t need any sugar coating."

The smile Singh gives her is one of amusement, but it makes Monica’s heart race all the same. "I, along with my associates on the Council, have reason to believe Wanda Maximoff may be at risk at being recruited by a five hundred year old witch."

Monica simply blinks, then cocks her head to the side and scoffs. "Okay, a little sugar coating might’ve been nice.”

"Her name is Agatha", Signh continues as she hands a folder to her. "She popped up on our radar shortly after everyone came back." Her smile tightens. "Who could have guessed time travel could lead to some problems?"

"Literally everyone", Monica says with an airy laugh. She pulls a picture out of the folder, eyes widening at the sight of the woman in question. “Hey. I know her.” She holds the picture up, lips pursed as she notes, “Cute earrings”.

“We figured you’d recognize her”, Cece cuts in, giving Singh a pointed look. “There’ve been a lot of sightings of her in this neighborhood.”

Monica just nods, continuing to look through her folder. The deeper she looks, the heavier the folder seems to get because this Agatha lady seems pretty...intense. Monica looks up, then says, "Okay, so this sounds kinda serious. I’m not one to downplay my own talents, but my work is mostly with extraterrestrials-peaceful ones at that- so why-"

"Miss Rambeau", Singh interjects, eyes piercing in a way that makes Monica's heart stop mid-beat. "We can skip the formalities. I've been made aware of your jacket."

Monica turns her eyes onto Cecilia, who merely shrugs. Sensing she’s on her own here, she then turns back to Singh, clears her throat, and says, "O-Of course, ma'am".

"I'd like to contain this without getting Avenger input." She crosses one leg over the other, then gives her something of a sad smile. "You know how they are these days."

Monica purses her lips. She fingers the folder, noting that, even excusing its metaphorical weight, it is quite heavy. Interest piqued, she brushes her fingers over its surface, inching to peel it open, only to abruptly stop and instead set it beside her on the couch. Because Maximoff is in her room and no doubt listening. It wouldn’t be right.

Whatever's in this folder, Maximoff should see it first. 

"What would you have me do?", Monica asks, lifting her head to look either woman in the eye.

Singh just smiles and answers, "I have it on good authority that you're already investigating Maximoff. I'd like you to assume a more...personal approach."

_ Well, shes already spent the night on my couch. Doesn't get much more personal than that. _

"Get close to her", Singh continues. "You'll need to inform her of your agency but keep word of Agatha to a minimum."

Monica wipes her hands up and down her pants legs. Cecilia gives her a look, and Monica resolutely ignores it. "Okay, I'll, uh, I’ll get right on that."

_ Don't freak out _ , a voice whispers inside her head.

Monica's eyes widen, and she immediately feels herself beginning to freak out. 

_ They're already suspicious _ , the voice continues, speaking quickly, and Monica, with a sigh of relief, places it as Maximoff’s _. Just keep calm until they leave. _

"...I look forward to working with you", Singh is saying as she holds out a hand. Monica takes hold of it, taking a moment to marvel at the firmness of her grip, and smiles wide.

"And I as well, ma'am." Monica stares down at their hands, then let's go, and lets out a breathy laugh. "Let me walk you out." As she walks towards the door, Cecilia murmurs, "Careful, Rambeau. Your reputation's preceeding you".

Monic grits her teeth, refraining from slamming the door the moment Cece steps past the threshold. "It was lovely seeing you ladies", she says sweetly.

"Oh, I'm sure it was", Cece retorts, then turns and leaves.

Monica presses her lips together, awkwardly waving goodbye to Singh before slamming the door shut. "Oooh, I wish we were on Yelp", she mutters, cutting herself off with a squeal when she notices Maximoff standing before her.

"Singh's a good woman, but I appreciate you not telling her I'm here", Maximoff says, hands tucked into her back pockets. "And your friend-"

"She's not my friend", Monica snaps. Then, at the ensuing silence, "We work together".

"...All right." Maximoff looks around the apartment, then back at her. "So what happens now?"

Monica crashes onto the couch with a heaving sigh. "I was gonna ask you that." She tilts her head back and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Listen. You can crash here as long you want. But we're gonna have to lay down some ground rules first."

Maximoff lets out a breath. "Okay."

"No looking in my head." She sits back up and slides Maximoffs folder across the table. Tentatively, Mazimoff accepts it, flipping through its contents before lifting her eyes to meet Monica’s. "I didn't look through it", Monica says softly, pleased when Maximoff’s stance relaxes.

"That's reasonable", Maximoff says with a nod. "Is that it?"

Monica cocks her head to the side. "No. If...when this Agatha lady approaches you, you come to me about it."

Maximoff raises an eyebrow. "So you'd really help me avoid them."

"Well...yeah. I mean, World Security may not be what it was six years ago, but they’re still kinda fucked up. It's why they are so keen on hiring more ‘down to earth’ people these days, to help keep the higher ups in check. But there's only so much I can do without stepping beyond the bounds of the law."

Maximoff’s look turns from hesitant to curious. When Monica frowns, shifting her foot from one to the other, she muses, "Sounds like you’ve done this before".

Monica turns her back to her.

"I've been in the field", she returns defensively. Then, her tone softer, "I'm going out. Keep an eye on the place".

She doesn't await her response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooooooo. When I tell y'all I am still reeling after hearing about Chadwick. I literally don't even know what to say. As a black fan, it's hitting pretty hard, but at the end of the day, I'm just a fan and can't even imagine how his loved ones are coping. Like wow.  
> Stay safe out there and try to keep y'all's heads up and I'll see y'all next week.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Wow, it's been a minute 😭😭😭. Sorry for being gone for so long but I've been thinking about returning to this for a while now and finally got around to it. Heads up, I haven't posted any form of writing in a few months, so if this reads a little funny, please bear with me, I'm still trying to get back into the flow of things.   
> Alsoooooo, for obvious reasons, canon divergence like jesus christ, just all around. I think I finished the outline for this before the first trailer for wandavision dropped, so aside from a few tweaks, you're gonna see an entirely different story and characterization from what's going on in the show.   
> Okay, that's enough of that! Let's get into the fic 🤪🤪🤪.

Tracking Agatha proves to be harder than Monica could’ve ever imagined. For someone so high on World Security's list, she's kept a pretty low profile.

For a moment, she considers travelling to the office, if not to collaborate with her team, then to at least make use of S.W.O.R.D.'s stellar wifi and internet speed. She forgoes it, though, instead opting to remain upon the roof of her building. She prefers the familiarity of her own laptop anyway, even if it runs a bit slower.

Besides, there's always the matter of WS potentially monitoring her activity. She may work for World Security, but she sure as hell doesn't trust them.

"Okay", Monica says, tapping her fingers against her thighs as the brittle San Francisco wind bites at her skin . "If I were an all-powerful witch recently raised from the dead, who would I be recruiting?" 

As she’s pouring through all digital records, past and present, Monica tries to put herself in Agatha’s shoes. Blitzing culture shock aside, she’d probably assume witches were still being burned at the stake and, therefore, be cautious in her recruitment efforts. Probably leaning more towards youth, the more vulnerable the better, which would more than likely put her on the path of the homeless between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five; young enough to still be easily moulded yet old enough to be discarded with little mourning from the rest of society. 

Afterall, she would know.

Monica’s fingers go still over her keyboard as her head starts to ring. She blinks, hard, once, twice, then three times, then opens her eyes and just stares out at the sea of apartment buildings surrounding her. Oftentimes, she really feels like she could just...just leave. Just jump and let the wind carry her and just fly, let the sky, the stars, the empty vast of space consume her.

Just disappear. 

Her computer chirps, a pulsing ring of green emerging upon six apparent witchy hotspots in the city. Of the six, three are of reputable sources among the witch community, with the remaining three being more popular as entertainment than an actual practice.

"Agatha", Monica breathes, patting her cheeks to ground herself as she writes the coordinates of the hotspots on the inside of her wrist. "I get the feeling we're gonna be fast friends." She powers down her laptop, tucks it away in its bag, and rises to her feet, taking a moment to survey the landscape of the city one last time. And she allows herself, albeit briefly, to think of Maximoff in her apartment. 

_ This is fine _ , she thinks, and then she descends the fire escape. Once she's reached the bottom, she sends a text to the burner she’d lent Maximoff and starts towards one of the hotspots.

She's about a block away when she gets a call from Luna. 

"Sister of mine, would you mind enlightening me on just what the hell you’re doing?"

Monica rolls her eyes, shaking her head as she sidesteps a pothole. "I was just thinking the same thing. Cece didn't come alone."

"Count your ass lucky, Nicki, it's a miracle I was able to even get the lead." She goes quiet then before resuming with, "Any new leads?"

"Uh, yeah”, she sighs, watching as the neighborhood has a subtle but drastic change from inhabited to dilapidated. It’s sad, but it makes sense. If you’re gonna start, it’d probably be better to start some place without any probing eyes and ears. “It's just a bunch of hocus pocus, though."

Luna lets out a noncommittal hum, then says, "So the rumors are true?" When Monica opts to remain silent, she sighs and adds, "Speaking of hocus pocus…should I be worried about you?"

"Always", Monica chuckles with very little humor behind the sound. 

Luna’s quiet for a moment, then quietly murmurs, "8:00 am, at the Starbucks just outside of HQ".

"I'll be there." Monica hangs out and pauses before the collapsing pharmacy in front of her, just across the street. She takes a step closer and bends down, examining a broken piece of sidewalk within her hands.

It’s funny. She could have sworn construction just finished on this street.

Out of the corner of her eye, Monica spots someone in a sweatshirt approaching. She puts her phone back up to her ear, then pretends she’s talking to someone, all the while discreetly watching as the person draws closer and closer to the pharmacy. 

They disappear the moment they step beyond the threshold.

"Just a bunch of hocus pocus", Monica murmurs, then turns and makes a break in the opposite direction. 

: : :

Maximoff doesn't seem very surprised when Monica tells her about her find. Annoyed but not necessarily surprised.

"Hell of a coincidence that she happened to set up shop so close to me", she mutters, peeling back the wrapper of her cheese quesadilla.

Monica bites into her taco and just looks at her. "You weren't exactly hiding, you know." Maximoff just grunts, then tucks her legs underneath her and pulls her throw blanket closer to her. Brows furrowed heavily, Monica sips at her pink lemonade and just watches her. "Hey", she starts, somewhat fumbling with her words. "Once we figure out this Agatha's deal, I could find a way to relocate you."

Maximoff huffs. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Agent."

"I never do", Monica says. She finishes the last of her taco, then rises to her feet, dusting the crumbs of her shell off her hands as she starts towards the kitchen. "I was thinking we could check out the house."

A chuckle rises within Maximoff. She points her drink at Monica. "We?"

Halfway to the kitchen, Monica pauses before resuming her pace. "Well...yeah. I mean, if she's coming for you, wouldn’t it be nice to have something over her?" She pulls open the fridge door, leaning over in pursuit of her carton of kiwi-strawberry juice. "What better leverage than having a good layout of her base of operations?”

"Maybe", Maximoff murmurs from where she's appeared behind the fridge door. Monica startles, clenching her carton close to her chest. "But wouldn't it be better to investigate in the morning? That whole neighborhood is lit up with sensory magic. We wouldn’t be able to take one step without alerting the whole clan.”

"Yes”, Monica cedes, gently closing the fridge behind her. She’s about to reach for a cup when a field of red suddenly surrounds it, guiding it towards her with the grace of something out of a Disney movie. “Thanks”, she murmurs before continuing. “But then we'd only have an empty house to stare at, and, if this Agatha is as good as she seems, she won't leave much of a paper-trail."

Maximoff just watches her, seemingly impressed. "Sounds risky."

"Sometimes risky is all you can work with." Monica leans against the fridge, glass of strawberry-kiwi still in hand, and raises her eyebrows. "You in?"

Despite her efforts, the smile Maximoff’s attempting to suppress pushes through. "Why not?", she says, taking another bite out of her quesadilla. "I got nothing else to do."

They head out an hour later, once the suns set on the city and officially given the go-ahead for dumbass ideas. Monica guides her to the pharmacy, and they stand there, waiting until a helicopter passes overhead to rush towards the back windows.

She peaks up and gets a good view of where a group of people are gathered around a flaming metal can. One of them she recognizes from her earlier run-in and the other from her files.

Agatha.

For a five hundred year old, she sure doesn't look it.

Monica turns to Maximoff; she opens her mouth to say something, then wavers, uncertain before she lifts two fingers to her temple and gives a brief wiggle. Thankfully, Maximoff realizes what she means, gently brushing over Monica’s mind before she receives a consenting nod.

_ What are you thinking? _ Her voice filters in like a steady stream of music from a pair of headphones. It’s jarring, at first, but also kind of cool. 

_ I’m thinking we need to get closer _ , Monica thinks back, and Maximoff just gives her a look.

_ If this goes sideways...I’m not using lethal force. Not on a bunch of kids. _

_ Neither am I. _

Maximoff gives her a sad smile, then thinks back,  _ Just making sure you know what you're getting into. If it hits the fan- _

_ I’ll stay out of the way. Promise. _

And with that, Maximoff crawls into the window, crouching as she makes her way towards the bookcase separating the hall into rooms. Monica follows in suit, thinking back on her training days with the AF and S.W.O.R.D. and feeling grateful. That and whatever cloaking spell Maximoff’s conjured up.

When it comes down to it, she supposes they’re kind of a good team…

She and Maximoff part a space between the books before them and stare out at the group. And with a twirl of Maximoff’s fingers, their voices suddenly become audible.

"...using magic in public was risky but she wouldn’t fucking llisten", a hooded figure is saying. "She never listens to anything I say!"

"You're so dramatic", says the girl beside him. She tears open a pack of marshmallows and starts to eat them. "It was a simple illusion, Rupert, no one noticed."

"The grocer noticed", Rupert retorts. "Your illusions are so shoddy, a novice would have noticed."

"Children", the woman at the center of the circle says. Her voice is chilling and archaic, arching high and sweet like morning bird songs. Even before she removes her cloak, Monica knows that that’s Agatha.

All the same, Monica turns to Maximoff, who's watching the scene with an indescribable expression.

"Well, what was I supposed to do, dude was getting away?", the girl suddenly shouts, voice high-pitched. "Agatha, you said we had to get him, no matter the cost!"

"Not at the cost of exposing us, Tracy, you idiot!"

"Children", Agatha trills once more. "All of this is unnecessary. What matters is did you or did you not make contact with Dorrek?"

_ Dorrek? _ Monica's eyes widen, and she stumbles backwards, dislodging a mound of pebbles in her wake. Even before the startled shouts meet her ears, she knows she’s blown their cover.

Yeah, working behind a desk hasn’t done her any wonders. 

“That one’s on me”, she admits with a flinch as she leaps over a crate and starts after them, calling out to Maximoff as she goes, "You go left, I'll go right!"

In hindsight, she probably should've listened to Maximoff. It's great to finally have a lead on Dorrek, but, admittedly, night-fighting has never been Monica's strong point.

"World Security", Monica shouts, yelping as she leaps over a toppled garbage can before resuming her pursuit. "I need to speak with you!"

"My dear”, Agatha shouts back, voice bright with delight. “I’m not in the mood for speaking!"

Monica narrows her eyes, ducking as a Lyft bike floats into the air and goes hurtling in her direction. 

Okay, so shit’s really going sideways. She's done all the reading she can, but it won't help her in a fight. Nor to mention her only backup is heading in the opposite direction, and her last field experience was in the Peak, which dealt primarily with extraterrestrials. 

_ Focus on what you can control, Rambeau.  _ It's the voice of her P.O., stern and in the mood for no mistakes. Monica grits her teeth and propels herself forward. 

_ What can I control? What can I control? _

She has a taser, equipped to take down the average human and several off-world species. Should she go more than an hour without using her laptop, there's an email to be sent out to her family and closest friends. And thanks to Agatha, they're in a neighborhood left abandoned, with little to no risk of possible civilian injuries.

_ Good _ , her P.O. says, and Monica shakes her head, reaching into her pocket and tossing an electric-square. She throws it up ahead, and it encases Agatha in an electric cube. It pulses a fierce, angry blue, casting the dimly lit street with an ethereal glow. It doesn’t help that Agatha has dropped all pretenses of being defenseless, veins gold pulsing through her like power run amok. It certainly puts things into perspective. All that stands between them is a flimsy cube that Agatha should’ve been knocked down.

She seems to realize this, a self-satisfied snarl gracing her lips as she half-heartedly raises her hands up. "Darling", Agatha begins, head tilted to the side as she looks Monica up and down. "I am rather busy at the moment, do you think we could postpone this?"

"No." Monica slips her hand into her pocket, prepared to toss another cage at her. "Monica Rambeau, Agent of S.W.O.R.D., sub-affiliate of World Security." She pulls out her badge, then narrows her eyes. "Why are you after Dorrek?"

Agatha merely smiles. she crouches to the ground and hums. "I'm afraid I dont know who you're talking about."

_ Shocker _ . "What about Maximoff", she tried instead, eyebrows raised. "Name ring a bell?"

Agatha just chuckles. "A faint one, yes." She turns her nose up, and her shoulders bounce as her laughter grows buoyant with amusement. "And who would you be? A bodyguard?"

Monica just scoffs, then reaches into her holster and pulls her gun. Somehow, she doubts her taster would quite do the job here. “I don’t think that’s any of your business."

"Mm." Agatha shakes her head. "First rule of interrogation, my dear, you give to get." She eyes Monica, eyes suddenly bright with curiosity. "Who is the woman the Witch allowed to get so close? Prior credentials aside, of course." The cube wavers, electricity crackling as the cell quivers. 

"Nobody", Monica says, and Agatha doesn't seem impressed by that. "Really. 'til a few days ago, we didn’t even know each other."

"Interesting", Agatha notes, disappointment evident in her voice. "I've gotta say, the witches of the future? Not very impressive."

"Is that so?"

"Oh, yes." She rolls her eyes and snorts. "Associating with mere mortals, actively running away from magic. If my coven could see their pathetic husks now."

"I'm sorry." Monica shakes her head, eyes narrowed. "Didn't y’all used to get burned at the stake?" Agatha's smile thins out, and Monica pushes on. "I read about you, you know? You did some pretty gnarly shit."

Agatha scoffs. She actually looks amused. And, weirdly enough, hungry. "Tell me something, dear." She cocks her head to the side, her hair resting against her collarbone. "Have you ever had a past mistake lorded over you? Ever had it define you, taint you forever?"

Monica keeps her expression levelled. Her mind on the other hand is a different story. Because she has had a mistake define her career. She understands just how infuriating that can be but at the same time, especially when no one knows the whole story but..."You don't accidentally slaughter people", she returns, the words spilling forth with ease. "You had a choice."

Agatha chuckles. "I know!", she shouts, her words echoing throughout the empty street. Compounded with the walls of her electric cube, her voice sounds discordant, like a symphony of clashing movements. "But hell if it didn't give those priests pause. And a pause was all I needed." She places her hands on her lips and hums to herself, veins growing from just promiment to overwhelming; she looks like she’s about to explode if Monica’s being honest. "I'll admit the sacrifices were not my finest hour, but there was only way my plans could be finalized."

"And now you're back, and you're picking up right where you left off", Monica scoffs. "Maximoff and Dorrek, those kids. Sounds like you're building a new coven."

"Perhaps I am." Agatha gives her a teasing smirk. “Jealous?”

“Not exactly.” Monica keeps her eyes on the cube and searches her mind for Maximoff, but it’s hard, when her focus is mainly trained on the just barely subdued woman in front of her. “What do you want with the kid?”, she asks then, hands gone sweaty around her gun. Maximoff, she gets. These days, everyone wants a piece of her. But Dorrek? That, she can’t make sense of.

Agatha just hums. "All in good time, my dear." And with that, she lifts out her hands, and the wall of electricity falls. Monica had merely a moment to gape at it before she's suddenly flung backwards and into a nearby wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you're thinking or if you just wanna talk about the show lol. Cuz I got tons of thoughts on all that mess 🤣🤣🤣. Anyway, thanks for reading and thanks for everyone who's interacted in some way with this story. I can't say when I'll be updating, but the plan is to aim for once a week.   
> So yeah. Stay marvelous and I'll see y'all lovelies soon 😘😘😘.


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